 |
| "Millennium Centre" |
It’s 3am on a
cool summer’s night, somewhere in the heart of Cardiff City Centre. I’m engaged
in a bus-stop conversation about European poverty with a young woman who looks and sounds like a Ukrainian Jodie Foster. The conversation ends as abruptly as it
begins, as her taxi arrives. We wish each other well while barely meaning it;
in the manner in which polite strangers do. Minutes later, an old Asian couple
take her place. We discuss Cardiff; I explain its energy and beauty. Then tell them
the trip has been good, but nowhere near as much as it would have been, had my
girlfriend been by my side; something I knew I would feel before I arrived, but
never in as much as abundance, as I did...
Ordinarily at
3am, I am fast asleep in the comfort of my bed, awaiting a standard Friday in
London. However, thirty-six hours ago, a force of impulse hit me whilst sitting
in the all too familiar setting of Harrow Starbucks; I need a day away to some
place new. I’m going to Wales!” I had the time and - more importantly,
the desire. So I booked a coach for the next morning; and that was that. I didn’t
know why exactly I made this decision, but figured it would make sense, a few
days down the line.
The next morning
at Victoria Coach Station - still unsure why I was travelling exactly, I was met with hoards of young backpackers heading
to “Latitude”; a three day music festival in Sussex. My curious nature led me
to a conversation with two overtly posh students about the gig; including
topics such as the joys of Pigeon poo, Wellington boots, and the greedy nature
of the very corporate Rolling Stones. I was hoping for a quiet four hour trip along
the M4 to Cardiff, so was happy for a brief interaction, post-journey.
Unfortunately,
this never came to pass. Minutes after finding my seat, a Chinese student – on route
to Cardiff with her friend, decided to fill the empty seat beside me. While
friendly enough, I wasn’t looking to engage in pandering to broken English, and
explain the meaning of 90% of the words I use. And yet – due mainly to the fact
she had an iPad, it made the journey a little interesting; the discovery of
Candy Crush and an episode of SpongeBob Squarepants, certainly broke the
journey down. But god that kid was annoying. How many times do you have to ignore someone, before they figure out you wish to be left alone?
Arriving in
Cardiff, the first noticeable sight was how busy, peaceful, and tiny it is; in
comparison to most capital cities. Cardiff Castle, shopping centre, university,
government assembly, history museum, and national stadium, sit within a
half-mile radius of one another; the Millennium Stadium - for example, is right
beside both the river and shopping centre. It is akin to having Wembley
Stadium in Soho, if you can imagine that. This was graduation
day at the historical Cardiff University; leaving the area loaded with proud
students and their even prouder parents. As I ate lunch – feeling happy yet
lonely at the same time, and surrounded by mixtures of bachelor boys and girls,
rugged and stylish chavs, rugby shops, and endless streams of
street-entertainers, I had a feeling Cardiff seemed blissfully at ease with
itself. The answer to why came from the lips of a gruff Scotsman - visiting for
the weekend with his wife; “The main difference between Cardiff and London?
Cardiff doesn’t have anything to prove… and never smells of piss.” Okay the last part I added myself - but he wouldn't have been lying.
 |
| "Cardiff Bay" |
A few hours of
visiting the usual attractions, I ventured to Cardiff’s hidden gem – situated a
half-mile south of the city centre; Cardiff Bay. This is the coastal area of
the city which - unless you were aware of its existence, could easily be missed
on any given visit. The straight road of Bute Street which leads there is a built
up chav paradise; much like having to cross a giant Poundland, in-between two different
forms of paradise. The journey was worth every filthy step, as once I arrived
at the mesmeric beauty of Roald Dahl Way - and the bold lettering of the Millennium
Centre, I was left with nothing but a small corner to turn before I hit an open coastline resembling the south of
France on a scorching, clear day; tranquil, quaint, and as relaxing to the mind
as a day in bed with a set of Buddha scriptures. Physically and mentally, I was
content. Emotionally however, I knew this was meant to be enjoyed with my
girlfriend by my side; the feeling was bitter-sweet, but in many ways, it was
something I needed to know.
As the sun slowly
set for the day, and I made my way back through Poundland, the night-life had
captured the city centre. Seeing endless streams of drinkers outside the pubs
and bars bought out the cynical Londoner in me; expecting armies of aggressive,
hostile welsh drunks causing all sorts of mayhem, come midnight. And yet, come
midnight, it didn’t happen. People drank, had fun, sung and dance a bit (one guy’s
guitar led rendition of the Arctic Monkey’s “When The Sun Goes Down”, could have passed for the real thing), then went home. The entire evening I saw two ambulances, three
police cars, and not a single van. The noisiest sound emanated from a
big-screen rendition of Tosca and the ensuing applause when it finished; hardly
riot inducing.
As the night
drew in, and the time for me to leave arrived, a bitter-sweet ambivalence to my
time in the city was my abiding memory. For
me, the journey was not about the beauty of Wales capital city – even though
it was impossible to ignore. As much as taking a step outside my comfort zone
while in a stage of calm clarity, and to see how I felt about it. Twenty-four
hours from London, turned in to a collection of sobering sights, and random
conversations which were not random at all. They were a reminder that everyone
is travelling somewhere, everyone is searching for something, and everyone needs
someone to share the pathway with. Even now, while the beauty of my time there was heightened by
Welsh hospitality and class, it was also dampened by the solitary nature of the experience; perhaps the reason I write this article.
Not having my
girlfriend around, made me more open to conversation - and conversation more open to me. And yet, as interesting
as they all were in their own varying ways, none could replace the magic and
ease about life I feel when we journey together. Cardiff is a beautiful city,
and I cannot recommend it highly enough, as a hidden nugget of Great Britain’s
western arm. But memories are made to be shared, and love is even more apparent
when the source which makes it grow, is absent. Much like the city of Cardiff itself, it is made special by the collective being viewed as one, and the unifying nature of differing types of people sharing the same experience. I guess this is an aspect of life we ignore; it takes one person to do something, and another to appreciate the act - a solid reason for communication.
I will go there again in the
future. The next time however, the missus is coming with me; at least that way I can
sit beside someone I want to on the journey there, and not feel too bad, about
missing conversations with Ukrainian Jodie Fosters. But of you can, go visit Cardiff; just don't forget the bay...
Lee.
